


Medical Emergencies

by Era_Penn



Series: Togetherness Issues (And Other Superhero Problems) [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assassination, Bad Humor, Blood, Bromance, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Drugs, Explosions, Friendly Insults, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Clint, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Insults, Kidnapping, Language, Medical, Medical Inaccuracies, Oreos, Pizza, Vampire references, Xmen, bros, drugged, garlic - Freeform, kidnap, medical emergencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Tony have a deal; Tony tells Clint if he has worse than scrapes and bruises, and Clint doesn't leave Tony alone with the doctors.</p><p>No one can decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Time with the Rats

Clint glared at the TV as though it had personally called his mother a fat potato donut. Potato donuts. Lies glazed in sugar. Ugh. Nevermind that they were actually delicious. LIES. 

“Uh… Clint? Are you okay?”

Clint glared at the TV even harder.

“Leave it, Bruce. He’s pouting because Tony made him come home to get some rest.”

“I’m not pouting!”

Natasha gave him an amused glance. “Sure, birdbrain,” she remarked. 

Bruce nodded in understanding next to her. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he mused.

Clint squawked in outrage and stormed away. If that’s how they were going to be, he would go glare somewhere else. He wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t. He was worried. How else was he supposed to react? He knew - they all did, after an unfortunate incident at the beach - that water was one of Tony’s biggest triggers. He hated getting it anywhere near him, especially standing water or the dank murky stuff like they’d all gotten covered in on the last mission. He also hated being stuck in hospitals, and that’s where Tony was now. And he made Clint leave, so he couldn’t watch his back now either.

What was it with supervillains and sewers, anyway? Not to mention the rats that looked like they came straight out of either _The Princess Bride_ or _The Secret of Nimh_.

* * *

**Three days earlier**

“Why is it always sewers and warehouses?” Tony complained, “Can’t any of the villains have any sense of originality? I mean, really. Is it so hard to come up with a decent lair?”

“Chatter,” Steve said, with the air of someone who knew they were going to be ignored.

“I know, right?” Clint agreed, “it’s like they’ve given up. Midlife crises. Single old men with a pet cat.”

Tony sniggered. “We should get one for Fury. A fluffy white one.” Iron Man slogged through the disgusting liquid under his feet as the others carefully tried to avoid the worst of the muck. Natasha actually perched on the armor’s shoulders, delicately balanced and barely managing to avoid scraping against the yellowish-grey ceiling. They made an amusing sight, like a panther perching on a red and gold elephant’s head.

Clint heard something… scuttle. “Incoming,” he warned, and the others got ready to fight, Natasha reluctantly leaving her perch.

“What’ve we got, Hawkeye?”

“Not sure.” He tapped his hearing aid. “Heard it, didn’t see it.”

Steve jumped, drawing their attention. “Rat,” he said.

“RAT!” Tony yelled, disproportionately upset.

“Tony - _holy shit_ , that’s not a rat, that’s a fucking rodent of unusual size!” he interrupted himself, as he turned and spotted the thing Tony was fighting.

The ROUSes, as they would be called on all official reports, were no less than four feet tall at the shoulder and twelve to fifteen feet long, including the tails. The smell was horrendous; think ferret, add in sewer, and soak for a decade. The rats drooled constantly. Long, naked tails whipped powerfully, and slammed Steve into a wall hard enough for some crumbling in the stonework. The worst part, though, was the teeth. Clint came much closer to becoming acquainted with the sharp gnawing teeth of giant rats than he had ever desired, and the others weren’t much better off.

Iron Man got the worst of it, and Clint personally believed it was a mix of “ooooh, shiny” and “hey, you just killed Billy” running through the rats’ heads, as the repulsors were very effective against giant rat flesh. (Incidentally, the scent of that flesh burning was much better than how it smelled in the first place, and Clint was getting some vindictive pleasure out of that.) At first he was relieved - the armor should be able to hold up against the rats, and he personally had a much easier time picking off rats swarming Tony than trying to fight these particular monsters up close. 

Then he noted how Tony was getting quieter and quieter over the three hours of fighting giant sewer rats. “Oi, Iron Man, you okay?” he demanded, drawing everyone’s attention. Clint was almost always the first one to spot a problem among his team, since he generally had the best viewpoint and a skill for spotting problems that needed to be dealt with.

“You betcha,” Tony replied, oddly breathless.

“Sitrep, Iron Man,” Cap demanded.

“...I’m almost out of juice,” Tony admitted. He sounded as though his teeth were clenched, trying to hold back even as the others started to panic. 

Clint cursed in his head. He should have expected - Tony had to use the unibeam any number of times on these things, usually to save his and Natasha’s ass, since Cap and Thor were somewhat gleeful in their rat-bashing. Hulk had been left behind because they didn’t want him destroying the sewer system - and he really wouldn’t fit. “How close?” Natasha demanded.

“...Eighteen percent?”

“What the hell, Tony! Why didn’t you _say_ something, you stupid overblown tin can?!”

“Because we’re fighting GIANT RATS IN A SEWER SYSTEM - SHIT!”

Thor bashed in the head of the giant rodent that managed to sink its teeth through the shoulder plating of the armor and Tony’s hand flew up to hold the gap. It rested there for a second - and Tony collapsed.

“This is Captain America, we need med-evac for Iron Man NOW!” he screeched across the comms as Thor frantically plunged his hands into the seething sewer water, desperately looking for a flash of red and gold.

“Got him!” Clint yelled, spotting a flash of gold and grabbing hold, clinging for dear life as he strained to keep hold of the suit. Thor immediately ran over (bashing a few rats on the way) and heaved the metal up onto the walkway next to them. Sewer water gushed out of the gap in the suit where the rat had bitten. “Shit, water got in the suit -”

Clint lost track of the fight after that; he entered almost a fugue state. All he could think was the next move, the next obstacle, the next rat to kill. Where was Coulson with med-evac? Right, rats. Kill the rats, keep Tony safe. Kill the rats, keep Tony safe. “How many of these things are there?” he screamed in frustration.

“It looks like they’ve been breeding, so a lot!” Natasha growled from his back, where she was helping him guard their fallen friend as Thor and Steve really cut loose on the monsters.

High on adrenaline and unable to recognize that the fight was over, Clint didn’t move from his crouched position over the armor until Coulson knocked him out and dragged him away.

* * *

“-running a fever of-”

“-start an IV ten minutes ago-”

Tony groaned. It was hot. He was so hot, and he felt sick, and his head felt like an earthquake, building in intensity until it shook his world apart -

A cool hand rested on his forehead, and he frowned, trying to place it -

“Sh, I’ve got you, you idiot.”

“Genius,” Tony tried to mumble, but wasn’t sure he was successful, but the insult was good, it was safe, and that meant he could clock out again -

* * *

The second time Tony woke up, he was just coherent enough to acknowledge the presence of all the Avengers and receive assurance that his consciousness meant he’d live.

“Hurts,” he mumbled.

“We’ll dope you up,” Bruce promised, and then he was out of it again.

* * *

When Tony woke up the third time, Tony was on some good drugs, Clint was there, and he knew everything would be okay. Except maybe Clint, who looked like he was about to keel over and die. “Oi,” Tony rasped, throat dry.

Clint’s head shot up from where he was leaning it against the doorjamb. “Tony!”

“Oh, good, he’s awake,” Tony heard Natasha’s voice approaching down the hallway. “That means he’ll be conscious enough to appreciate it when I kill him.”

“What…” Tony frowned, trying to recall what he’d done to land in medical this time. They were heading into the sewers. “Giant rats… then… oh, oh fuck -”

“Shit,” Clint said.

Tony barely heard him. His brain was taking him through the fight agonizingly slowly, the drugs slowing his mind and allowing him to relive every moment in glorious, mental HD. He could feel the disgusting water getting into his lungs, he couldn’t breathe, the suit was drowning him, he was drowning in the suit, fuck, and he could taste sand and ash in the back of his throat… and smell vanilla?

“-not there, Tony. You’re right here. Natasha’s going to get pissed if you don’t pay enough attention to appreciate being murdered, and then you know who’s going to have to deal with cranky assassin? Me. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? I mean, we’re bros, right? Anyway. Here, not there…”

Tony felt his breathing start to even out as he took gulping breaths of vanilla and felt soft cloth against his face. A towel, a dry towel, rubbing like it was drying his beard and smelling of vanilla detergent.

Clint was getting something awesome next workshop binge.

Slowly, Tony relaxed back into his sheets. “How long?” he asked, voice still hoarse. Natasha approached with a cup - with lid and straw, awesome.

“Four days,” Clint replied, trying and failing to conceal a yawn.

“For one bite?” Tony asked, after swallowing a gulp of liquid.

“For a bite, several mouthfuls of sewer, and a severe infection battling your rather shitty immune system,” Clint said. “Not to mention the reactor running low. Don’t worry, Bruce swapped it, and no one else was around at the time except me. _No one._ ”

“You look like you’re the one dying,” Tony said.

“Well, he has been here for all four of those days, and spent most of it awake and glaring at all the medical staff,” Natasha said.

“Nat!”

Tony tried very hard not to tear up. “...Jerk,” he eventually muttered, because for some reason he felt like the balance of insults was out of whack.

“Bitch,” Clint replied, grinning.

“Good to see the two of you back to insulting each other,” interjected a dry voice from the doorway. Coulson continued with: “You’re going to have rather boisterous company in three… two…”

“FRIEND TONY, YOU HAVE WOKEN!”

Tony grinned at him. “Hey, Thor. Did you smash the one that got me?”

“Aye, vengeance was swift and complete!” Thor said.

“ _Awesome._ ”

Clint yawned again.

“Okay, no. Birdbrain, go home.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh. Thor’ll keep watch for me for a while. You look like you’re going to die if you don’t go home and rest.”

“Nuh uh.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he tried to think around the painkillers. “Fine, then I’m checking myself out.”

“NO!” Clint said. Jeez, it was like he was just automatically rejecting everything.

“Then go home, shower, eat, and sleep at least six hours, but preferably closer to ten. Thor’ll stay here.”

“Indeed, shieldbrother, I shall take the watch!”

“But…” Clint started.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Natasha?”

She turned towards Clint menacingly. “I will escort you,” she said.

“ _Traitor,_ ” Clint hissed as she dragged him away. Not that he was able to put up much resistance in his state.

Once the two assassins had gone, Tony hesitantly asked, “He was really here the whole time?”

“He did allow Natasha to relieve him long enough to shower when we first arrived,” Thor said. “Due to the healers’ insistence that it was unsanitary and would only worsen your condition. However, he has otherwise refused to leave the room.”

Tony turned his head into his pillows to hide his dopey smile. “Think I’ll sleep some more,” he said.

Thor patted his ankle gently - for Thor. “Rest. I will keep watch until Clint returns.”

And, huh. Tony actually kind of believed him.

(When Clint came back eight hours later, he brought Legos and fake Oreos. _Fake Oreos_. Jerk.)


	2. That Time Hammer Blew Up His Own Headquarters

Tony is horrifically ashamed of himself. Sure, he’s gotten kidnapped before - it wasn’t exactly rare, since he was the fleshiest, showiest member of the team most of the time - but this was an all-time low. It might even beat out his freshman year of college. Possibly even his and Rhodey’s infamous adventures the year after they got out.

Because Tony just got out of the horribly cliched basement and realized where he was located. The location implied his kidnapper, and Tony covered his eyes and counted to three. He uncovered them and looked around.

No luck; he was indeed still at Hammer Industries. Who the hell hides a kidnapped person under their own corporate headquarters, anyway?

Right. 

_Justin fucking Hammer_ , that’s who.

Tony frowns, annoyed enough by the silence surrounding him to set aside his annoyance and despair for a moment. Looking around, he blinks. He’s in Hammer’s mailroom, which as it’s… Tony locates a clock with a calendar attached in a corner. It’s 2:30 pm on a Tuesday afternoon. The place should be bustling.

“Tony,” Hammer’s voice comes cheerfully over the intercom. “How kind of you to drop in!”

Drop in. Ha ha, very funny. Tony rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Mind unlocking that rather obnoxiously locked door over there, so I can get out of your hair?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Any significant movement in the mailroom this afternoon will have unhappy consequences.”

Tony freezes. “Justin,” he asks, “Did you rig the most structurally important section of _your own headquarters_ to explode?”

“The mailroom’s not _structurally important_ ,” Hammer protests.

“It literally contains five of the eight largest support beams in the entire building, since it’s pretty much at the bottom of the building and covers most of the floor. Literally the only place worse to blow up is the basement, where all eight can be reached.”

Tony can practically feel the sudden panic through the intercom. An _intercom_. It’s like they’re living in the Stone Age or something. Everyone just uses AIs to relay messages through the building these days.

Oh, wait, no, that’s just SI. He should mass produce a ‘message carrier’ version of Jarvis. That would be cool.

“Where is it?” Tony asks.

“What?”

“The bomb, where is it? Apparently I have to save your ass. I wouldn’t bother, but I’m guessing you didn’t evacuate the whole building when you wired it to explode.”

“It’s in the cupboard four feet in front of you and ten feet to the left,” a familiar voice cuts in suddenly. “I can see some glowy bits in the crack between the doors. Also, there are a couple motion sensors around, so seriously, don’t move fast.”

“Lovely of you to drop in, Clint,” Tony says, instantly feeling a bit relieved. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with Hammer one-on-one now. Very, very carefully, and very, very slowly, he starts creeping forward, chatting at Clint to try and stop his impatience from getting the better of him. “Bring any friends?”

“Yep. Natasha and Steve are working on evacuation. Sadly, we can’t get in with you without blowing up the building.”

“Of course. Don’t let Hammer leave until he’s the last one out.”

“Well, duh. A CEO has to go down with his ship, after all.”

“I’m telling Pepper you said that.”

“Aw, Tony! After I came all this way to save you, like your own personal Robin Hood!”

“I’d look damn good as Maid Marian. We should cosplay.” Tony smirked. Three… two…

“Hell, no. Robin Hood is crap. Except the Disney one. That’s one awesome fox right there.”

“Hey, it was your idea,” Tony said, teasingly. Finally, he reaches the cupboard. Bending over slowly, he pulls the doors open and stares at the large bomb in front of him. “Do me a favor, shoot Hammer for me.”

“Tony,” Steve cuts in sharply, and Tony winces. He hadn’t realized Steve was wired in to their conversation. Jarvis was getting sneakier. “What happened?”

“Our dear CEO somehow set a timer on this bomb. And also it’s big enough to wipe out the entire block. And by wipe out, I mean turn into a smoking crater. The fires, damage, and other issues - those’ll probably travel four or five blocks further. Hard to say without a better look at the energy source.”

“Damn. Get out of there, Tony,” Steve demands.

“Unless someone has managed to turn off the motion sensors and evacuate everyone in a five block radius in the ten minutes since you guys showed up, that’s not happening. It would take me at least twenty minutes to get to a door without setting them off, and according to this, I’ve got fifteen.”

Natasha curses very creatively in three dozen languages.

“Luckily, the tools I need are all here,” Tony says. “I should be able to minimize the blast, might not even take the whole building. Maybe.”

“Minimize,” Clint says sharply, highlighting the one word Tony hoped he wouldn’t.

Tony starts working on the bomb without answering. No one wanted to hear that explained in any more detail. To distract himself from the ticking gray numbers (who knew seconds went by so fast?) Tony starts snarking again. “Can we get Hammer on domestic terrorism charges? And kidnapping, can we prove he was the one who did that?”

“Oh, we’ll get him,” Coulson’s voice comes through grimly.

Tony focuses in on some of the tinier wires involved and winces as his headache makes itself rather forcefully known. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Tony,” Clint says.

“Headache. Dehydrated.” 

“You got drugged.”

Tony sighs, opening his eyes and getting back to work. He’s just glad it’s pretty cool in the mailroom, because if he was sweating any more his tools would slip. “The fundraiser for the children’s hospital. The super low-key one, where I got grabbed. Pretty, scared lady drugged my drink, and I elected to drink it rather than force her to face the suspiciously present thugs in the corners by herself. I don’t think it was entirely voluntary on her part.”

“It wasn’t,” Coulson confirms. “Hammer owns the building where she lives, and she and her little brother were about to get evicted. He offered to keep her there for life if she drugged you. If she didn’t, she would’ve lost the brother to the foster system.”

“She okay?”

Steve half-laughs. “Only you, Tony. We are going to have a long, long discussion about taking food and drinks from strangers later.”

Tony smiles and detaches the first set of three power sources from the side of the bomb. Carefully, he slides them across the floor, below the motion sensors’ sight lines, down along a ramp towards one of the heavily insulated mail bins. Should be enough to keep the main bomb from triggering it. “But Steve,” he whines, “it was a _martini_. Besides, if I didn’t eat food from strangers, I would have died by the time I was five. The mansion staff had a high turnover, and I had learned my lesson by then.”

“That is true,” Natasha says. No one else really responds, and Tony realizes this might be one of those things that wasn’t normal about his childhood, though apparently he and Natasha shared that this time around.

“Guys? Chill, it’s fine. After about the third time I got punished for not eating, I stopped doing that.”

“Jesus Tony,” Clint growls.

Tony’s nimble fingers have managed another set of three power sources, and he slides them into a different mailbox - better safe than sorry. “Jarvis, you there, buddy?”

“Of course,” Jarvis replies, cutting off any further commentary on Tony’s less-than-stellar first five years of life. 

“Any chance we could get someone in and out of those mailboxes in less than six minutes?”

“No, sir,” Jarvis says. “Not with a probability higher than fifty percent.”

“Better not risk it then, unless Bruce is close enough.”

“Dr. Banner is on a flight back from New Zealand,” Jarvis replies, sounding like he deeply regrets helping to book the vacation in the first place.

“Well, let’s hope the insulation holds, then. Barton, is everyone evacuated yet?” Tony’s quick fingers are working on the third set of three power sources. He knows he isn’t going to have time for the last set. “The building’s probably going to come down,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.”

“What?! Get out, now!”

“No can do, Cap,” Tony says. “Barton.”

“Yeah, Tony, everyone’s out.”

Tony slips the third pack free, ignoring the voices of his team and Coulson demanding he get out, _now_. He slides it into a separate mailbox and eyes the clock. Two minutes, seven seconds. 126. 125. He turns around slowly, eyeing the rest of the room. 119. There’s a massive, metal cupboard anchored to the floor on the other side of the room, built to contain and deal with sensitive materials in case of a fire or something. Luckily, there are no packages or anything that looks like Hammer’s weapons tech in the mailroom, which is a small blessing, and that cupboard is Tony’s best bet.

117\. Tony takes careful steps in the right direction, relieved as he comes closer that there isn’t a lock. Still, it’s a long way to go, moving as slowly as he is.

108\. Tony’s moved a foot, and at this pace he isn’t going to make it. He can move .3 inches faster per second without setting off the motion detectors, but that’s pushing it. A stumble, a slip, and the bomb will go. He moves incrementally faster anyway. “It’s like red light, green light,” Tony says, slightly hysterically, “except with only one player, and a more final red light.”

“Not if we can help it,” Steve says firmly.

“If you don’t get out of this, Stark, I will find you and make your afterlife a misery,” Natasha says.

“Now that’s what I call motivation,” Tony says. 74.

“If you let Hammer kill you,” Clint says, and lets it trail away.

“Hell no,” Tony growls. “I’m going out in a blaze of glory, not because Hammer _rigged his own headquarters_.”

“That’s more like it,” Steve says. He sounds distinctly satisfied. “Besides, I still need to give you the stranger danger lecture. Actually, I’m going to volunteer you to give the stranger danger lecture. I’m sure some school in New York would have you.”

“Oh, that would be _fun_ ,” Tony says, gleeful. He normally wouldn’t admit it, but he loves volunteering at elementary schools. And middle schools. Middle schoolers always acted so _unimpressed_ , it was hilarious, he could see them practically exploding trying to contain their inner nerd.

43\. The cabinet looked forever away, and Tony almost moved too quickly. Taking a deep breath, he shifted his feet forward.

“No. Vetoed,” Coulson says.

“Phiiiiilllll,” Tony whines, feet still moving.

“No.”

Tony sighs. “I’ll convince you eventually.”

27.

“Oi, it’s your turn to pick the movie for movie night,” Clint growls. “If you don’t show up, Thor gets to choose. You can’t do that to me.”

“ _Young Frankenstein_ ,” Tony replies. “And you’d better not watch it without me unless it’s at my funeral.”

“Not dead yet, Stark,” Natasha says. She sounds kind of annoyed by the fact.

“Gee, Natasha, didn’t realize you cared so much,” Tony says, very, very sarcastically. 

10.

He feels vaguely detached from his own fingers as they inch forward, reaching desperately for the cupboard doors.

9.

“You don’t get to die until Pepper kills you, remember?” Natasha says.

7.

“Oh, right,” Tony says, and he doesn’t let on that he’s staring at a cupboard full of chinaware. Really, Hammer? Ordering kitchen sets through the company mailroom? “Death by Louboutins, because that’s so much better.”

5.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks.

4.

“Fucking Hammer,” Tony says, and takes a deep breath, because this is going to hurt. He carefully reaches to grab the edge of the cupboard door.

3.

He grabs the biggest box with his spare hand and grins.

2.

“See you all in the aftermath,” he says, and in one swift motion scoops the box out, launches himself into the cupboard with enough force to crush and shatter some of the others in his way, and drags the door shut behind him.

The click of the cupboard is drowned out by a massive roar, and Tony’s cupboard is sent flying. His head smacks against the metal, and everything goes black.

* * *

Tony can’t see. “J’vis,” he mumbles.

No reply comes. The lights don’t turn on, either. Frowning, Tony reaches up to rub his eyes, only to wince - his right arm is fractured at best. His left arm makes it all the way up to his face, though, and he groans at the sensation of sticky-slick smearing onto his face. He was bleeding. Why’s he bleeding?

Tony tries to shift his body, only to hiss when shattered glass digs into the strip of skin above his waistband.

“...ear...ony… hear m…”

“...Clin’?”

“...ony? Comi… ou… hear… ‘re comin… ton… get you.”

Tony relaxes. His team’s coming to get him. He can sleep and they’ll get him, and Clint won’t let the vampires eat him.

“Tony! … ponded, thin…”

Tony closes his eyes again. They’re too heavy to keep open anyway.

* * *

The light is shattering against his closed eyes and Tony whines pitifully.

“Hey, Tony,” Clint says. “I got you, buddy. Let’s get you some morphine, hm?”

“Oreos,” Tony demands at a low hiss. “Better bring me real ones this time, jerk.”

“Whatever you want,” Clint says.

Tony squints his eyes open just a tiny bit. “You cryin’?”

“No!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nope. Now come on, medical can’t wait to get their hands on you.”

“Nooooo, don’t let the vampires eat me,” Tony whimpers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Clint promises.

Tony tries to nod, but loses track of the light instead.

* * *

It smells like garlic. Tony frowns. Really strong garlic, too. Did he have garlicky Italian for dinner or something?

Tony opens his eyes, and winces. He’s in medical. Lovely. He must have had one hell of a concussion, too, because the only thing he’s getting when he tries to remember why is a vague sense of annoyance at Justin Hammer. 

His eyes flick around a bit. The room is dim; that supports the concussion theory. That or it’s late at night, but the bright strips of light outlining the blinds would show otherwise. Turning his head, he registers the IV in his arm at about the same time he spots the half a dozen garlic cloves hanging from his IV pole.

“...the hell?” he rasps.

“Hey, awake again, huh?”

“...Again?”

Clint sighs. “We’ve had this conversation… four times now.” Clint leans over from the side of the bed the IV isn’t on and offers Tony some ice chips. Tony devours them greedily. When Clint withdraws, he speaks up again, sounding a bit better.

“Garlic?”

“Well, you told me not to let the vampires eat you.”

Tony groans. “Never living that down.”

“Correct.”

“What happened? Can I blame Hammer?”

Clint scowls. “Yes, since it was entirely his own fault. He kidnapped you, then rigged his own building to blow as a failsafe.”

“I got nabbed by _Hammer_?” Tony whines, and Clint snickers at him.

“Details later, when you’re less likely to forget them all again,” Clint replies. “Anyway. You were able to lessen the size of the explosion, but most of the building came down on you. Plus, we found you in a cabinet full of broken glass. Doctor says you’re lucky nothing caught the big vein in your leg.”

“Explains why I feel a bit like grated cheese,” Tony says.

Clint nods. “You’ve got a lot of minor cuts, a couple that needed stitches. You look like a mummy. Fractured an arm in two places, sprained the opposite ankle, and got a serious concussion. But other than that, you’re fine.”

Tony blinks as the room spins a bit before resettling. “How long?” he asks.

“You’ve been in and out for two days now. You have to stay at least three more, after the first time you properly remember this conversation.”

“No,” Tony whines. “It stinks in here.”

Clint smirks. “That’s what you get for scaring the hell out of us, you ass.”

Tony scowls, but his eyes are heavy, and Clint’s keeping watch. He tries to keep scowling, but he’s losing the battle with sleep.

It’s probably the only fight he doesn’t mind losing.

He blinks one more time, and can’t help but smile a bit dopily at the soft relief on Clint’s face. “Oreos,” he demands.

Clint laughs, and Tony drifts back out like it’s a lullaby.


	3. That time Tony got drugged

Clint sat coiled in a corner of the damp cell, eyes on the door. In the dim light, he could only just make out its outline on the far wall, where traces of light slipped through the cracks. He listened carefully, ignoring the vague drippy sounds of the place and focusing on what else he could hear. It had been silent for just over two hours now. Clint listened.

Another half hour passed. Clint sat ready, sniper’s patience keeping him crouched and prepared, only moving enough to keep his muscles from cramping and hindering his movement. Finally he heard footsteps and then dry, rasping breath. He listened and picked out several set of feet, along with one pair that was stumbling. His eyes narrowed into a scowl. Oh, he was going to kill them.

In a burst of movement, the door was thrown open and a figure thrown through. Clint jumped forward at once, catching Tony before he could fall flat on his face. The door swung closed, and Clint heard laughter retreating back up the hallway.

“Give them a couple hours to stew,” one of them said. “By then one of them will be ready to talk.”

“Not likely,” Clint muttered, and carefully shifted Tony down to rest against the back wall of their small cell. “Tony?”

Tony didn’t respond, though his minute movements indicated he was certainly awake. Clint carefully reached out and tipped Tony’s head back, the pale light of the arc reactor casting odd shadows across the billionaire’s face. Clint peered into his eyes. The pupils were blown wide, focused on something over Clint’s shoulder.

“Tony,” Clint said softly. “Tony, listen. You’ve been drugged. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not really there.”

No response.

Clint continued murmuring soft nonsense, pausing now and then to listen for movement beyond their cell. There’s nothing but distant thunder.

“No,” Tony rasped.

“Tony?”

“NO, I don’t want to - dad, please don’t make me -”

Clint felt his insides twist. “Tony, he’s not there.”

“He is, he’s right there -”

“Tony, it’s the drugs. Tony. Listen.”

“Please don’t, dad, please - I’ll do it better next time!” Tony’s hands have drifted upward to block imaginary blows.

Clint bit his lip; he wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. Leaning back on his heels, he let his hands drift down to rest on Tony’s shins. Continuing to murmur reassurances, he started rubbing soft, steady circles against Tony’s skin, hopeful that the physical sensation would help where words obviously weren’t.

“Mom?” he heard Tony ask softly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry -” his hands crept from protecting his head to covering his ears, lightly at first, and then harder and harder. “No - dad, I didn’t mean -”

“Tony, what do you see?” Clint asked softly, as part of the stream of reassurances. He was surprised when he received an answer. 

“It’s dad - I didn’t mean to drop the torch, it just, it was getting so hot, and it was so heavy. It - it was the first engine I’d made - no, dad, please stop, I didn’t mean to!”

Tony had made his first engine when he was six, Clint recalled. If he ever met Howard Stark by some weird twist in the universe, Clint was going to kill him.

Tony went quiet again, but it was no natural silence. Clint could see his lips turning white with the pressure of keeping them pressed together, and Tony’s arms started to tremble from the pressure he was putting on his ears. Tony’s eyes squeezed shut.

Clint reached out and gently pulled Tony’s hands away from his ears. “Hey, genius. Stay with me. Remember, it’s just the drugs. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not really there.”

“Clint,” Tony managed to murmur.

“Yeah, buddy, I’ve got you.”

Tony’s lips were still pressed together, but now he rapidly blinked to restrain tears. “Stark men are made of iron,” he mumbled suddenly, “Stark men are made of iron, Stark men are made of iron, Stark men are made of iron -”

Clint couldn’t tell if the mantra was hurting or helping Tony’s attempts to stay calm. Carefully, he started rubbing steady circles on Tony’s wrists where he held them.

“Maybe,” Clint murmured. “But I’m pretty sure you’ve outclassed them all and become titanium.”

Tony didn’t seem to hear him this time, mumbling the mantra under his breath over and over again. “Not crying, dad,” he said, suddenly breaking off the words. “Not crying - no, I swear, just got dust in that eye. I’ll go rinse it out - I’ll be right back, I’ll finish it - dad, please - Obie! Obie, no, what are you doing - Obie?”

Clint winced. “Tony. Stay with me, buddy.”

“I don’t want to - no, stop - Ty, stop!” Tony curled in on himself, Clint letting himself be dragged forward slightly to maintain the steady contact with Tony’s wrists. Tony sobbed, bitterly, and then was immediately reassuring a phantom Howard Stark once again that he definitely wasn’t crying. 

The tears streaming down his cheeks were entirely silent, and Clint winced, because silent tears were the kind that couldn’t be helped, that no matter how strong the effort slipped free anyway, even if all other signs could be hidden. Silent tears were the truest, worst kind. 

“Tony, buddy, I’m right here. It’s not real,” Clint whispered. His throat starting to dry and rasp, he continued whispering, kept rubbing circles into Tony’s wrist.

He heard thunder boom as though it was right overhead, and a familiar roar, and smiled. “Hear that, Tony?” he asked. “Sounds like the others came to pick us up.”

“NO!” Tony shrieked. “NO, don’t let them - Ty, no, I don’t want them - Ty -”

The door swung open behind Clint, and he spun just in time. He caught the enemy by the wrist, point of a knife inches from his skin. Clint growled, low in his throat, and twisted. Once he had the knife in his hands, the enemy didn’t last long. Listening, he couldn’t hear any other footsteps nearby. The rest of the facility was probably more concerned with the rest of the Avengers breaching the front gate. Returning to Tony and ignoring the blood on his hands, Clint tugged Tony’s hands away from where they had once more settled over his ears. “Tony,” he said softly.

“Clint, make them stop,” Tony gasped. 

“As soon as I can,” Clint promised. Carefully, he managed to tug Tony to his feet and onto his back. “Can you hold on?” he asked, gripping Tony under the thighs piggy-back style.

“Clint,” Tony rasped. His hands fisted slightly in Clint’s shirt, and his legs tightened a bit around Clint’s waist, but he was otherwise deadweight. Clint was going to take that as a “no.”

He headed out the door anyway. It didn’t take long to navigate out of the holding cells; they were all on one long hallway, and neither of them had been unconscious when they came in. Clint would stop and let out any prisoners, but with Tony on his back he didn’t have the time or hands to spare. The other Avengers or Coulson and SHIELD would have to take care of it.

Once he was out of the holding cells, Clint turned away from the direction of the fighting. The other Avengers would be worried when they found the dead guard and no missing Avengers, but Clint was pretty sure Tony would rather die than let most of the others see him like this. Luckily, the farther they got from the fighting, the quieter it was, and Clint was able to dodge a couple enemies and a couple SHIELD agents sneaking in the back on hearing alone. That didn’t get him around Natasha, though.

Her eyes went sharp when she saw him, bruised and bloody, with Tony, incoherent and still weeping, burrowing into his shoulder. 

“We’re heading for a safehouse,” Clint murmured. “I’ll check in within 24 hours.”

“You should be heading to medical.”

“I will, but I personally don’t want SHIELD to have a drugged Tony Stark under their control any more than I want these guys to have him. Not like this.”

Natasha nodded. “24 hours to check-in, Barton. Back door is left, right, right, left.”

Clint nodded and quickly headed in the direction she had indicated. It didn’t take long for him to find the exit and slip away; Natasha was on rear guard, and backup only came when called. 

“Still with me, Tony?”

“Please, make it stop,” Tony moaned.

“Hang in there, buddy,” Clint whispered, and kept moving.

* * *

The safehouse is small, and tucked carefully into a middle-class suburban neighborhood. The garage is down the side of the house, and largely hidden from the main road by a tall fence. The fence itself, neatly painted white, has a section that swings out for a quick getaway. Clint parks the truck he stole to get them there carefully in the garage. It came from a civilian, so it shouldn’t be tracked, but just in case he sets a signal disruptor on the hood and turns it on. He carefully gathers an incoherent Tony from the passenger seat and carries him inside. The house is clean, if a bit dusty, with an open kitchen and living room. A short hallway contains two bedrooms and a very nice bathroom. Clint knows there is also a hidden set of stairs leading down into a very large basement containing an armory, medical supplies, and several other useful items. The closet with a carefully disguised false wall would be incredibly difficult to locate without that knowledge, though.

Heading to the back bedroom, which comes equipped with a massive California King, Clint carefully sets Tony on the bed. When he tries to draw away, he discovers that Tony has Clint’s shirt clenched tightly in one fist. Clint gently tugs it free. “Just going to go grab some water and food,” he says softly.

“Clint,” Tony croaks, and his brow furrows as he tries to parse through what Clint is telling him.

Clint knows this won’t get any easier if he waits, so he moves quickly, gathering water bottles and canned peaches from the kitchen. He barely remembers to grab a can opener and two plastic forks on his way back to the bedroom. By the time he’s come back, Tony has somehow managed to haul himself halfway upright and get his feet on the floor. “Whoa, hey,” Clint says, softly, “stay put.”

Tony stiffens. “Yessir,” he says. “Yes - no, won’t move a muscle -” and then his voice cuts off as he bites his lip.

Clint can practically hear a distant Howard Stark telling his son to shut up and stop babbling. Tony’s ramblings in the car on the way here had painted a very different picture of his childhood than SHIELD or the media described. Then again, it could be the mysterious “Ty” who made several appearances in a not-so-friendly manner.

“Don’t tell Natasha,” Tony says suddenly.

“What?”

“I have nicknames. So many nicknames, but don’t tell her because she’ll kill me.”

“I don’t think so,” Clint replies, lips twitching. “Think she’s been feeling a little left out, actually. What nicknames?” He starts organizing the food and water as he listens to Tony.

“Arachne,” Tony answers promptly. “Also Odette. Coppelia. Giselle. All the ballet names. Red, got to use that at least once. Johansson. Heh, if they made our lives a movie, that’s who’d play her.”

Clint’s lips twitch.

“Don’t tell!” Tony reiterates. He looks suddenly terrified, like he can see the looming form of Natasha behind Clint in the empty hall.

“I won’t say a word about it,” Clint promises. He raises a water bottle to Tony’s lips, carefully tipping it back to give Tony a few sips. Tony drinks greedily, draining half the bottle before Clint pulls it away. Tony doesn’t protest, and Clint eyes him. Tony’s eyes are farther away again, lost somewhere in his own head. Clint drinks some water himself and then sets the food aside, returning to gently rubbing circles on Tony’s wrists. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. “You’re here, too, it’s just the drugs…”

Next time Tony is a bit lucid Clint will check-in with Natasha and get her to send Bruce. The two will be discreet.

* * *

The world feels distant. It is as though he is on the verge of passing out, everything tunneling away from him. An odd sensation, especially considering he’s just waking up. “‘Hell?” he croaks, trying to figure out where he is. The last thing he remembers is a needle, and Clint was still in the cell - it wasn’t safe -

“Tony?”

“C’nt?” he asks.

“Yeah, buddy. You with us?”

“Dunno.”

“That’s fair. They had you high as a kite. We’re in a safehouse, didn’t want you near SHIELD like that. Bruce joined us a little bit ago. It’s just us three.”

Tony felt his muscles start to relax as callused fingers began rubbing circles into his wrists. 

“Tony, how do you feel?”

“Dry.”

“Dehydration, yeah. We’ve got you on an IV for that. Do you hurt anywhere?”

“Migraine.”

“Anywhere else?”

Tony frowns just a little, closing his eyes and feeling out his body. “Achy. Like the flu.”

“How’s your vision?”

“Tunnel. Everything’s far away.”

“Still some drugs in your system then,” Bruce’s voice chimes in, cutting Clint short. “We’re trying to flush those out now.”

Tony kept his eyes closed, focusing. He couldn’t remember… it flooded back, and he felt all his muscles go tense again. “Clint,” he gasps. “Clint, Howard was here, and Ty and Obie and -”

“Sh, Tony. It was just the drugs. They aren’t here, I promise. You’re safe. Bruce and I’ve got you.”

Tony relaxes again, in increments. A straw is eventually presented to him. Tony sips at it slowly, cool water slipping down his throat and making it easier to breathe and speak. Pulling away, he blinks up at Clint, holding the glass. The world feels a little closer now. A little more real. “Oreos?” he asks.

Clint laughs. “I’ll see if I can find some.”

Tony grins at him, then settles back into the pillows with a yawn. The fluffy pillows and soft cotton sheets surrounding him are solid against his skin, warm weights that anchor him to reality, then let him drift peacefully out of it again.

* * *

Tony is in and out for a while. He isn’t sure exactly how long, but he remember waking up several times before. This is the first time the world’s felt right, though. “Hey,” he called. 

Quick footsteps approach, and Tony tenses. Then Clint comes tearing around the corner in socks, slips, and slides into the opposite wall. Tony stares for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. It sort of hurts, and he registers than he has some bruised ribs, but he can’t help it.

Clint turns around. “See if I’ll share now,” he taunts, holding up a pack of Oreos and moving to stand just out of Tony’s reach.

“Oreos! Not even those _lie-cookies_ you torment me with. Gimmee, gimmee!”

“And this incident?”

“Shall henceforth be mentioned in only excruciating detail, including that I was drugged beforehand.”

Clint sighs. “I guess that’s the best I’m going to get.” He hands over the package of Oreos, and Tony digs in. As he munches, Clint starts filling him in on recent events.

“They tossed you back in the cell drugged out of your mind. When I heard the explosions, I figured it was the others and moved. Got us out the back door, so no one else saw you drugged up - well, Natasha in passing, and Bruce, since he came to do doctorly stuff - and I walked a couple miles, stole a civilian truck, and brought us here. Safehouse. You’ve been in and out for almost three days now, and we were taken two days before that, so you’ve got an IV for nutrients and one for dehydration, and we’re on Saturday now. It’s like noon. If you’re still coherent tomorrow, we’ll go into SHIELD. Natasha can only cover us for so long.”

Tony frowns. “You sure we can’t just skip out? The paperwork is going to be monstrous.”

“I think Phil makes up new stuff to try and discourage us from getting kidnapped or injured,” Clint agrees gloomily. “At least we’ll avoid doing it together.”

“You said you walked a couple miles?”

“Yeah.”

“Has Bruce checked you out? I vaguely remember them giving you a solid beating day one, and that can’t have been fun on bruised ribs.”

“He neglected to inform me of the fact,” Bruce says from the door, voice a bit chilly.

“It was significantly less important than Tony fading in and out of reality. Besides, all you can do for bruised ribs is wrap and ice them, and I did that fine myself.”

Bruce glares at him.

“Alright, alright!” Clint says. “Calm down, doc, I never said you couldn’t check, just that it was less urgent at the time. Let’s get Tony fed and watered first.”

“Oreos don’t count as food. And no coffee until we’re sure the drug has cleared your system. I’m worried the caffeine could set it off again.”

Tony gasps. “Et tu, Bruce?”

“No. Caffeine.”

Tony subsides with a grumble, munching on his Oreos. They taste amazing, and Tony realizes he’s starving. “Any chance a guy can get a cheeseburger around here?” he asks.

“We’ll get one on the way to SHIELD tomorrow,” Bruce replies.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Clint says. “Now that the drug’s out of your system and you’re not spouting random information about your childhood, livelihood, and adventures as a college student, we need to get you in for a tox screen and make sure this thing isn’t going to have any lasting effects.”

“...Ah. So that’s why you took me to a safehouse.”

“I would have insisted we take you to medical,” Bruce says, “But I owe you one for that time with the truth serum.”

“Can I at least move to a room with a television?”

“That we can manage.”

* * *

Tony’s attempt to escape early is foiled when Clint and Bruce anticipate the attempt, and time Natasha’s arrival at the safehouse accordingly. Tony, too tired to do much except glower, is ignored as they bundle him into Natasha’s car and head off to SHIELD.

Tony grumbles under his breath. Now he has to spend even _longer_ in medical than if he had just waited. He leans against Clint’s shoulder and drowses on the way there. They have a silent pact not to rib each other for cuddles when sick or injured. Their arrival at SHIELD and the paperwork for medical go by in a drowsy whirlwind, Clint and Natasha handling the details as Tony tries to wake up more without the aid of his precious coffee. He doesn’t quite manage it until he’s being steered to a bed in medical and hears,

“Sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait here.”

“Like hell,” Clint replies.

“We need to check Mr. Stark in a sterile environment -”

“Look, lady,” Clint says, too pleasantly to come across as anything but acidic, “He’s an Avenger. I’m an Avenger. That means we stick together. If you don’t know that, you must be either new or a spy.”

“I’m sorry, but-”

Tony digs in his heels before the nurse accompanying him can drag him down the hallway. He probably could if he tried, Tony’s achy and tired, but he doesn’t try too hard. Probably because Natasha was still hovering in the room with a glare on her face.

“No,” he says.

“Mr. Stark, we really need to do a check-up.”

“NO,” he says more firmly. He wants to try to communicate that he needs Clint there, but he’s too tired to be bothered. He says no. That means they can’t do anything. Natasha will make sure. And Clint. Turning on his heel, he wobbles his way back over to Clint. “Can we go home now?” he asks.

Clint appears to be trying not to laugh. “No, Tony, we promised Bruce, remember?”

The nurse tries to tug him away again, and Tony grabs Clint’s shirt to drag him along too. Clint goes willingly, smirking at the woman who had tried to stop him as he supports Tony. “You’re like an angry kitten when you’re tired,” Clint teases. “Kind of adorable and with a limited vocabulary composed entirely of protests.”

“Nuh-uh,” Tony replies eloquently as they are led to a bed down the hall, in a private room.

Clint snickers and follows easily. One of his favorite no-nonsense doctors comes in. She sighs in exasperation as soon as she sees them.

“You two again? They don’t pay me enough.”

“Don’t know if there is enough. But you love us, so that’s fine,” Clint says, winking.

Her lips twitch. “Love. Right. Sit _down_ , Mister Stark.

He pouts, but does as commanded.

“Let’s take a look at you, then,” she says.

Clint settles in on a chair in the corner with a good sight line to the rest of the room, and waits. The moment Tony is cleared for visitors (and to go home, pending one more blood test, the doctor informs them), Steve and Thor burst into the room.

“Tony!” Steve half-yells. “Oh my God, where have you been? And Clint, you just up and vanished, and Natasha wasn’t worried but she wouldn’t tell us anything! And then Bruce shows up this morning saying we might be able to catch you if we head in, and they tell us you’re on _quarantine_ -”

Tony leans back in his bed and lets a light smile tug at his lips as Clint starts grumbling at Steve for being a mother hen and Thor starts booming about their valor as warriors of Midgard. Normally Steve’s reprimands would sting, feel patronizing. Maybe it’s reliving all his worst memories of his father and Ty while in a drug-induced stupor, but right now Steve’s panic just feels warm. A reminder that he’s got a better family now. He feels Clint’s feet kick up to rest on the bed and relaxes.

Home sweet home.

The smell of chocolate reaches him. “Those had better be proper Oreos, not lie-cookies,” he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Either way, I’m not sharing,” Clint says cheerfully.

“Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! My computer's broken, but I'll do my best to update soon! A million thanks to Hawk for being a brilliant beta reader!
> 
> ~Era


	4. That Time Tony got Bad News at the Wrong Moment

It had only taken a couple of weeks for the Avengers to adjust to the regular explosions that echoed through Stark Tower. Between Tony’s private lab, the R&D department, the testing department, and Thor’s ineptitude with Midgardian technology, massive explosions were the norm, rather than the exception. Generally, the Avengers got more worried if there weren’t explosions than if there were. The explosions were usually safe, as far as explosions go, contained in testing labs. Testers sometimes got injured, but it was rarely anything major. Tony and his people were very cautious.

Well, except when Tony was _alone_ in a lab. Luckily, he was smart enough that when he was alone, he didn’t generally actually blow things up unless he _meant_ to, and thus was prepared. They counted on Jarvis to let them know if that wasn’t the case. 

The problem was, it made their response time a little slower when the explosions were a little more major.

* * *

Tony grins and gently shifts the eighth small globe to the left, into a pile of the other completed devices. Tony was all about making new friends, and first meeting required a good gift. Tony wasn’t a heathen.

Spider-Kid wouldn’t know what bit him. Plus he’d appreciate the _science_ , if Tony’s hunch about the identity behind the mask was correct. And he was, usually, correct about these things. 

“Sir?” Jarvis interrupted. “I’ve found more information on the Winter Soldier.”

“Told Cap?”

“Yes, I informed him. This is…. Something I believe you should see.”

“Well, hit me then.”

Jarvis obligingly pulled up a holo screen and Tony discovered an impressively thick file Jarvis seemed to have skimmed from a variety of sources. SHIELD, after they rooted out HYDRA, had help from Jarvis to go through the files and make sure they didn’t miss any undercover agents, and was one of Jarvis’ main sources.

Tony eyed the file. “Walk me through it,” Tony said.

Jarvis opened the folders and navigated to the appropriate file at a speed Tony could follow, which was still quicker than most of the populace could hope to keep up with. The file Jarvis stopped on was HTML5, converted from something else.

“Play me a movie, J,” Tony said, leaning forward.

“Sir, it is… upsetting.”

“Play, Jarvis,” Tony repeated. “Rip it off like a bandaid.”

“Sir, I really must advise you to sit down.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but took a seat at the worktable. “Play, Jarvis.”

Jarvis obliged, likely sensing that that was the best he was going to get, and Tony watched. He watched his parents’ car drive down an empty road. He saw a motorcycle pull up alongside. He saw the crash. 

He saw his mother die.

“Sir?”

Tony stared at the screen in front of him, which had gone blank. 

“Sir! If you do not respond, I will have to notify the other Avengers -”

Tony stood up - he need to get away, right now, he needed to just fucking run - and stumbled as his knees promptly decided that nope, they weren’t ready for that right now. Tony vaguely noted that he must be going into shock and reached out to catch himself on the table.

This would have been fine, normally. Contrary to popular belief, Tony was actually very good about keeping dangerous objects put away and out of reach whenever he could, if only because Thor liked to fiddle. Tony stared down at his hand in horror.

Because today, Tony was working on new, tiny, bombs for Spider-Man. Combined, they weren’t as small. The timers were blinking downward.

“Shit!” Tony said. He pulled his hand back and dived under the next table over.

* * *

Clint reclined easily at the kitchen table, balanced lightly on the back legs of his chair.

“You’re going to fall over,” Natasha said from across the table, not looking up.

“Nah, I have this perfected!”

“Said every high school student ever.”

“I ain’t no high school student. Never was. No, I’m a superhero. I don’t fall over.”

Natasha snorted.

“Five bucks he doesn’t fall in the next ten minutes,” Bruce said from the stove.

“You’re on,” Natasha replied.

“Where’d Cap go this morning in a rush?” Clint asked, ignoring the byplay.

“Winter Soldier sighting,” Natasha said.

“You know everything. How is it she knows everything?” 

“I try not to think about it too hard,” Bruce said. “How many eggs do you want?”

“Three. Hey, shouldn’t someone go get Tony?”

“After we eat,” Natasha said. “That way we don’t get hangry at him.”

Clint and Bruce stared at her for a moment. “That… was an unexpected turn of phrase,” Clint said, as Bruce resolutely ignored it and turned back to the stove.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Clint.

A vague rumble went through the building and Clint toppled over. Bruce sighed and handed Natasha a five.

“Always bet on R&D,” she smirked.

“Master Stark requires immediate medical aid and extraction in his lab!” Jarvis barked, suddenly.

Everyone froze, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. Jarvis didn’t typically bark.

“NOW!” Jarvis said, and they started moving.

“I’ll prep medical,” Bruce said, heading straight back through the common floor, towards medical. Strategically, it was closer to the balcony, where they usually flew in from battle.

“We’ll get Tony,” Clint replied, hot on Natasha’s heels as they headed straight for the elevator. “Jarvis? If you and Tony _do_ know who the spider is, it may be a good time to call him in. Thor’s visiting Jane and Steve’s chasing the soldier. We could use some super-powered backup.”

The elevator doors slid shut behind them, and the elevator dropped. Clint’s heart jumped into his throat as Natasha grabbed the handrail. Clint swallowed, and his ears popped. It took the elevator almost no time at all to descend to the floor above Tony’s workshop.

“You’ll have to take the stairs the remainder of the distance,” Jarvis said, sounding distracted. “Sir is in the explosives room, which he had sectioned off from the rest of the room. Unfortunately, his project was a collection of small bombs, all of which were accidentally activated, starting a chain reaction.” His voice followed them as they jogged towards Tony’s workshop. “I was able to get the door partially open to begin siphoning off the smoke, but it may be a tight fit.”

“Got it,” Clint grunted, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. Natasha steadied herself next to him and nodded. Jarvis read the signal and opened the door, bypassing the usual security measures.

Clint’s tension ratcheted up a notch. Jarvis never, ever bypassed security on the shop. Ever. He saw his readiness reflected in the set of Natasha’s shoulders and the glint in her eyes, and they slipped quickly and carefully into the room.

Most of the destruction they could identify was focused in the back corner of the shop, but there was smoke everywhere. Dummy appeared out of it, holding out two soaked washcloths. Clint gratefully tied one around his face as Natasha did the same, both of them still moving. They could tell Jarvis had every fan and vent possible open to siphon off the smoke, but there was a lot of it. 

They had no problem navigating the workshop; since Tony had been working in the sectioned off portion of the lab, not too much had shifted. Both of them liked to spend time here. Natasha loved to sit in the quiet and watch Tony create, especially after bad ops, and Clint liked to play with the bots, so they were both quite familiar with the layout - even when Tony changed it every couple of weeks to accommodate different projects. 

They reached the door of the explosives area fairly easily. The last few feet were a little rough, several items such as soldering iron, screwdrivers, and hammers scattered across the floor from the aftershock of the explosion, but they were able to navigate without too much trouble. The problem came when they reached the door itself. Sure enough, it was unlocked, smoke seeping out of the small space.

Clint eyed it. “Jarvis, any idea what’s blocking the door?”

“Unfortunately not. I am unable to ascertain whether there is something in the way, or if the functions of the door itself are damaged.”

“Well, guess we’re going to find out. Let Bruce know it looks like we may need a medical team down here with a backboard.”

“I have done so.”

“Perf.”

“You take the top,” Natasha said, moving forward to grip the bottom of the door tightly. She shifted so she could use her body weight to push the door open. Clint moved facing her and grabbed the upper part of the door, shifting so he could best make use of his arm, shoulder, and back muscles, strengthened by years of archery. “On three,” she said.

“One,” Clint said.

“Two,” Natasha said.

They both tugged on the mental count of three. They had worked together long enough to coordinate well. The door shifted a few inches, then stuck. 

“I can hear the door trying to open,” Natasha said. “I think it’s probably rubble in the way.”

“Spider-Man just entered,” Jarvis announced, and a red blur came out of the smoke.

“Yeah, hi,” Spider-Man said. “I can probably get that open. You know. If you want. Uh. Big fan.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “By all means,” she said. “Open or broken down, we aren’t picky.”

Spider-Man nodded quickly and moved forward. Clint and Natasha gave him room and watched. Spider-Man eyed the door for a long moment. He positioned his hands on the edge of the door, and pulled. The door didn’t budge, and he nodded, as though he had confirmed something. Then, he pulled the door outward and ripped it straight off its hinges. 

“This explosion wouldn’t even have fazed you, apparently,” Clint said, a little awed. Those doors were tough. He was pretty sure even Cap would have a hard time breaking it without his shield, and Spider-Man didn’t even bat an eye.

“Yeah, well. Healing factor,” Spider-Man replied.

They all moved inward. The explosives room was a mess. Clint took a moment to feel relieved that Tony only ever worked on one explosive project at a time, keeping the others locked away - one of Pepper’s more well-enforced rules. 

As they moved into the room, Clint and Natasha shifted smaller debris to the side of the room, into the clear, sheltered corners Tony obviously hadn’t taken shelter in. Spider-Man followed their lead, lifting and tossing larger debris into the corners, or in some cases dragging particularly large chunks out the door to pile in the main workshop. 

“Medical team’s here whenever we find him,” Spider-Man announced when he came back in after they’d cleared about half the room. Clint grunted in acknowledgement, hearing Natasha do the same.

Natasha found him first. Her shout drew Spider-Man and Clint over to where she’d uncovered Tony’s left leg. Spider-Man was quick to start shifting rubble at a rapid, practiced rate; it was clear he’d done this before. Clint easily started doing the same. Eventually, Tony was uncovered where he was sprawled against the back wall.

Tony’s head bled. Clint forced himself to look away; head wounds always bled badly. Tony undoubtedly had a concussion, but he would be fine, Clint told himself. He’d been somewhat protected by one large chunk of debris that looked like a tabletop. Something with his ribs, some bad bruising but no breaks in his legs… Clint catalogued the injuries mechanically.

And then he saw Tony’s hands. One was bleeding, cut somehow, and both looked burned - fairly badly burned. “Natasha, his hands -”

“Spider-Man, send in the medical team,” Natasha snapped, the Black Widow’s professional mindset remaining. Drilled into her.

“Right,” Spider-Man said and bolted for the door, moving the little rubble that remained out of the way. 

Clint stared at Tony’s hands. The medical team came in, tended to Tony’s head and got him on a backboard. “His hands,” Clint said. “Make sure you look at them as soon as possible -”

A nurse nodded at him tersely, and Clint followed them out of the wrecked room and back to medical, leaving Natasha and Spider-Man to deal with clean-up.

* * *

The beeping of medical monitors was _seriously_ losing its appeal as an alarm clock, Tony decided, eyes closed and head aching with each blip of sound. Not only did it mean he was in medical, it also meant he’d been unconscious for an undetermined amount of time, and that was one of his least favorite things. Paperwork built up, deadlines crept closer, and his workload threatened to kill him his first few weeks out of medical.

Oh, yeah, and he was probably injured pretty badly to be waking up to that sound. Note to self: Don’t tell anyone that _hadn’t_ been the most pressing issue upon regaining consciousness. 

Blinking, Tony tried to clear his eyes to focus on the blank ceiling above him. No dice. The flat, stable surface swam in his vision, and the whole world felt just a little off-kilter. He also couldn’t quite remember how he’d ended up in medical this time. Concussion, check.

“Ah, sleeping beauty awakens,” Clint drawled above him.

Tony closed his eyes again. “Concussion?”

“Yep. A fairly bad one. Nothing too major, since you seem to remember who I am, but bad enough they want to keep you tonight for observation. Also, don’t try to sit up.”

“What else?”

“Smoke inhalation, exacerbated by your reduced lung space. Minor burns, some serious bruising and a cracked rib or two. Oh, and, your hands.”

“My hands?” Tony asked, a little dumbly. 

“They’re tore up pretty bad. If you do what the docs tell you, and don’t go acting like an idiot about it like the two of us usually do, they predict a complete recovery. You’ll have to keep up on the PT to make sure the burn scars don’t tighten up and impede your movement, but your chances are good. None of the nerves were damaged, though you did mildly fracture a couple of bones, so all in all, not nearly as bad as it could have been.”

Weakly, Tony flexed his fingers. He could feel the burns stinging the moment he moved them, and his pinkie and ring finger on his left hand were stuck together. But he could move them, and the shakiness in the limbs - no nerve damage, Clint said, so that should go away when they healed some.

“What did I do?” Tony asked. 

“Jarvis said you were working on some new explosive toys to give Spider-Man. He showed you a video, some information he dug up, and you accidentally set all the bombs off. Chain reaction.”

Tony focused behind his closed eyelids. “Oh,” he said, and saw vividly his mother’s face, dark with fear and grief right before -

He wrenched his eyes open and stared at the swimming ceiling. Better that than…

“...Hey, Tony, what’s - are you crying? Wait, no, stop, I am not equipped to handle this.” Clint’s hand settled into Tony’s hair carefully as the archer rambled. “Look, I brought Oreos, double-stuff and everything. Want to hear about Thor’s most recent misadventure instead? Or - or about - uh -”

“‘S fine, Barton,” Tony interrupted. “I’ll tell you when I blow this joint.” He turned his head to look at the (vaguely wobbly) archer.

Clint nodded at him. “Sounds like a plan.”

Tony sighed and closed his eyes again. He was tired. He could deal with this crap later. “Stand watch?” he asked Clint.

“You got it,” the archer replied, and Tony drifted back to sleep.


	5. That Time Clint had to Take SO MANY Seminars

Tony yawns and stands stretching. Finally. Two days out of medical and finally, _finally_ he got the all clear to go play in R &D with his top engineers. Not that he’d ever tell them that. Plus it gives him a good reason to avoid all thought or mention or explanation of what had happened in the ‘shop. Clearly a win-win for everyone. 

“Tony!” Clint drops out of a vent in front of him. Tony very carefully doesn’t jump or shriek. “Now that you’re out and not all drugged up - what happened?”

“Nothing. I’ve got to go, bird brain, I have inspection in R&D today.”

“Oh, you aren’t getting out of an explanation that easily.”

Tony strides down the hallway. Maybe not, but he sure as hell is going to try. “So I guess this means you’re coming too, then?” Tony asks when Clint falls into step next to him.

“Yep. Maybe they’ll need a tester.” Clint’s lips curve up into a wicked grin as his eyes sparkle. 

“Jarvis, make a note to never tell Pepper I took Clint to R&D with me,” Tony requests. 

“Of course, sir.”

Tony nods, and enters the elevator, Clint right on his heels.

“Well?” Clint asks as the door closes.

“Well what? Am I doing well? Quite well, yes, thanks for asking. Oh, did you know I think I’ve got the hoverboard stabilized now?”

“Tony -”

The elevator doors slide open and Tony rapidly walks out into the relative safety of R&D. “Hey, what chaos has science wrought since last I graced you with my presence?” Tony demands.

A nearby scientist pushes a very conspicuous red button on the wall. “Stark,” he says as the other scientists hide things under desks and pretend they aren’t suddenly very aware of the intruders in their midst. 

Tony scowls at the button. “I told Pepper, an early warning system is totally unnecessary! I’m loud enough to constitute my own warning system!”

“One of the interns in lab 3 created a sentient coffee machine named Goddess,” the scientist says without missing a beat.

Tony brightens and moves through the area so fast Clint barely makes it through the door into the lab behind him.

“Sentient coffee machine?” Tony says. The scientists in the lab simultaneously point to a mousy, brown-haired, blue-eyed boy Clint swears he recognizes.

“You related to Darcy?” Clint asks. 

“Darcy Lewis?” the boy asks, lips turning pouty. “That soft-science chick with a rack?”

“That’s the one.”

“Cousins,” the intern replies shortly, and turns back to ecstatically explain the mechanics of the coffee machine to Tony.

“She did tase Thor,” Clint mutters.

“Yep, sounds like Darcy,” the intern sighs. It’s the sigh of the exasperated, worried friend who really just can’t take it anymore. Clint recognizes that sigh. Pepper uses it on Tony. A lot. And Phil has an equivalent eyebrow quirk.

Tony and the intern quickly devolve into a mess of techno-babble. Bored, Clint looks around the lab, wandering between tables and poking at less-delicate-looking items. 

“You really shouldn’t touch,” one of the scientists says sharply. 

Clint shrugs. “Hasn’t killed me yet,” he says. He swears the room collectively takes a step back. Clint’s eyes catch on a smooth silver disk that almost looks hazy, like it’s surrounded by evaporating water on a tarmac. No one’s nearby, most clustering around the coffee machine at this point. Curious to see if the air by the disk feels warm, Clint reaches out to poke it.

He’s not expecting it to poke back so violently. A small shockwave rolls through the room. He vaguely notices the cluster of scientists knocked off their feet as he flies backwards through the air. Into a very hard wall.

He’s going to have to sit through sooooo many lab safety seminars, he thinks. Then his head meets the wall and he loses track of his thoughts.

* * *

“You are going to have to sit through so many lab safety seminars,” a cool feminine voice informs Clint as he regains consciousness. 

“Thought so,” Clint sighs. Opening his eyes, he squints at the vaguely head-shaped red blob framed against the bright lights above him. 

“Dim the lights,” Natasha says, and Clint’s vision clears as the light becomes much more manageable. 

“I thought Coulson would be the one yelling at me, though.”

“We weren’t expecting you to be awake so soon. He’s yelling at Stark first, for taking you down there in the first place.”

“To be fair, I didn’t give him much of a choice. I wanted to ask him something.”

“Yeah, well. Coulson likes to stop these things preemptively. I’m pretty sure it’s not so much yelling as making odd faces as Stark digs himself into a grave of his own making.”

“He okay?” Clint asks, realizing Tony had indeed been present.

“Scratched up and bruised, but no lasting damage. He’s in a room down the hall. Needs some stitches. You, on the other hand, have a broken leg, cracked ribs, a concussion, and a recently relocated shoulder.”

“What hit me?”

“You poked a particularly moody prototype of an energy shield. It’s meant to redirect kinetic energy back at an attacker, with some added strength. Unfortunately, it’s a bit buggy. It tends towards massive retaliation a bit more than the scientists developing it like at the moment.”

“No kidding,” Clint grumbles. He reaches up with an achy arm and scratches his nose. “Stick that on Cap’s shield and Thor would probably get knocked out.”

Natasha snorts, and stands. “I’m going to tell Phil you’re awake. Stay put.” She slips out the door.

Clint rapidly moves. He pulls out his IV, ditches the heart monitor, and eyes the vent above him. Tony was in medical, so Clint needed to find Tony. The end. Especially since this time it was Clint’s fault Tony ended up in the hands of the blood-sucking doctors and their teams of vampiric mind slaves, all of whom insist on being called nurses. He cringes as he swings his legs - one casted - over the side of the bed and presses a hand to his aching forehead. Concussion, right. 

Carefully, he pushes his good leg under him and balances on the bed. He easily pulls loose the screws on the vent cover. Trying to lift his arms to hoist himself into the vent, he winces. His right arm definitely feels like it has recently been dislocated. He gently moves his arms up and thanks the stars he has amazing arm muscles from training as he pulls himself into the vent, relying mostly on his left arm’s strength. 

“Barton!” he hears, just as he drags his legs out of sight. Clint winces. So many seminars. Phil is going to make him sit through _so many seminars_. Wriggling, he shifts down the vent, sliding his casted leg along lightly to avoid making too much noise. Listening at every vent cover he passes - there are many in this area, one for each room of medical - he eventually overhears the nurses mention that Tony is in room 3B, which really is down the hall and across from where Clint had been in room 4G. 

“Not this time, vampires!” Clint mutters to himself. “You will learn we Avengers cannot be parted from one another…”

It occurs to Clint that he’s probably on some pretty good drugs, since he hasn’t felt a twinge from his ribs. Shuffling along the vents, he yawns as he finds his way to the right cover. Grunting, he lifts it up and slides it over. It makes more noise than usual, and Clint scowls at it. “Who’re you talking to?” he demands. Then his mind catches up. Right. Concussed. Vent cover. Those don’t talk, even in the tower. He thinks.

Clint looks down below him. The bed is clear for landing, and he can see Tony sitting at the end of it and talking to someone. Probably a vampire. 

“Well, Barton, are you going to join me or not?” Tony asks without turning around. 

Clint obliges and drops down onto the bed. It’s much more pillowy than he was expecting, and he grins in delight as he bounces slightly. Tony and Bruce are the only ones in the room. “How’d you know?” he asks.

“You weren’t being particularly quiet,” Tony replies drily, finally turning around. “What on earth are you doing, anyway? You have cracked ribs. And a broken leg.”

“Promised,” Clint replies, sinking into the pillows and yawning again. He eyes Tony’s face. He’s missing half an eyebrow and has a black eye and one long, neatly stitched scratch. Clint relaxes.

Tony looks startled, then sighs and smiles. “Thanks for that, but we are going to have a long, long discussion about this when you are no longer on the good drugs.”

Clint hums. “Sorry. Touched the thing.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to get a button for you, too. I’m thinking purple. That way my scientists can put warning signs on all the dangerous things before you come in.”

Clint burrows into the blankets on the bed. “Cool, then I know what to swipe.”

Tony snickers, Bruce groans, and Clint settles in for a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, many thanks to Hawk for being an amazing beta reader! Thank you all so much for your lovely comments on the last chapter, I read and appreciated every one. :)
> 
> ~Era


	6. That Time Tony Returned the Favor

Clint’s lucky. He has made enemies, but generally, they’re either dead (he has _excellent_ aim), on the right side of the law (and therefore unlikely to sneak weapons across country borders), or small-time idiots without the ability to organize an assassination.

The other Avengers are less lucky. Plenty of communists, Nazis, and Soviets would like to assassinate Captain America for all that he represents - and more than a few U.S. Senators would be a lot more comfortable with their own indiscretions if he were gone. Tony Stark, well. He’s a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, superhero, asshole. More than a few of friends have daydreamed about pushing him off a balcony on occasion, so it isn’t hard to imagine that plenty of others would want him gone, and have tried to make it happen. Then there’s Thor, heir to the Asgardian throne. Even if most attempts on Thor are orchestrated by Loki, plenty of people are willing to jump on the bandwagon to get in good with Loki, supposed future king of Asgard. Hulk just scares the shit out of people, making Bruce a target - the only ones who dare actually try it though, are either insane or idiotic. Or both, and those are the dangerous ones. Damn Ross. Natasha has more than a few ghosts in her closet, many of which would love to take her out, even if only for the street cred of killing the Black Widow.

All of this means that when there are big events - galas, parties, debriefs - Clint tends to stay out of sight and watch his teammates’ backs. Especially Tony’s. It is astonishing how many people want to kill Tony. The number is ludicrously, hilariously, impossibly massive. 

As the curtain rises on SHIELD’s annual Winter Holiday Blackmail Gathering Celebration, Clint automatically slips around the edges of the room, finding a good spot on an upper balcony where he can watch the floor below. 

He doesn’t worry too much about someone sneaking up on him or catching him unaware. His teammates check in, and at first glance he’s by far the least threatening of the Avengers. Most people in the Avengers’ weight class underestimate him enough they forget everything they ever knew about good tactics: take out the sniper first. Not to mention Clint has plenty of skill with the knives he carries and his bare fists, as well.

At SHIELD events, he tends to be even less careful. He works with these people, knows most of them by name, and there’s always excellent security. It’s more habit than anything that puts him up high, keeping an eye on his team. He doesn’t necessarily trust everyone, but he trusts that they aren’t stupid enough to try something here.

“Keeping an eye on everyone?”

Clint turns. “Bobbi!” he says, grinning. “Thought you were on assignment in… was it Ethiopia?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Bobbi Morse says, straight-faced.

They stare each other down for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “It’s good to see you, Bobbi. Still going by Mockingbird?”

“Yeah, seems a shame to change it. Might even be able to outshoot you, now.”

“Is that a challenge?” Clint asks.

“You, me, the range, this weekend.”

“You in charge of the new recruits then?”

“Sadly. May as well put the fear of the Avengers in them from the beginning. Good chance to scope out potentials for quick promotion, too.” Bobbi offers him one of the drinks she brought with her. Some kind of sparkling champagne.

“Thanks, but I’m not drinking tonight.”

“Oh, just have one. It’s Christmas. Besides, we both know it takes a hell of a lot more to get you drunk.”

“Just one. For old time’s sake.”

Bobbi’s smile flickers ever so slightly, hands twitching.

Clint’s eyes narrow, and he moves a hand towards one of his hidden knives. Bobbi usually laughs when he brings up the past, if only to cover her discomfort over everything that went down. “You okay, Bobbi? You don’t seem much like yourself.”

“Worn out. Ethiopia wasn’t fun.”

“I didn’t hear about anything going wrong out there. Surprised they could extract you for this, though - long-term surveillance is usually, well, long.”

Bobbi’s smile twists into a snarl that doesn’t suit her, and Clint yanks out his knife. Blue skin ripples up Bobbi’s arms. Quick as lightning, she pulls a gun on him and shoots.

Pain rips through Clint’s left arm and lower right side, drawing a hoarse scream from his throat. He reflexively presses his right arm to his side. It is a bad move, as Mystique takes her chance to dump him over the balcony. Clint, dazed, hears a shout of rage. A green blur fills his vision and he lands, hard. Not as hard as he would have expected, though. “Thanks, bi’reen,” he says. The world moves and he’s set on the ground.

“Watch Birdy,” Hulk grunts, and then with a crunch (Clint winces. Hopefully that wall wasn’t load-bearing), moves away. The green in Clint’s vision is replaced with gold and red and fancy suits as off-duty medical agents flock around him, and he lets his vision fade out.

* * *

“ - hate this place. Seriously, I’m getting hives just being here. Don’t tell anyone though, or they’ll try to eat me. Vampires. You know, Steve says that’s actually an actual thing? Anyway. Hurry up and wake up so I can break you out of this joint before the so-called medical professionals SHIELD employs do anything. Well, anything else. You’ve been out a couple days, at this rate you’re going to miss the next hoverboard test.”

“Shuddup,” Clint groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Everything aches in the way that tells him he fell off of something tall and will be one large bruise for a while. “Didja get her?”

“Finally! No, we didn’t, but we did manage to stop Magneto and friends from crashing the party. That’s the last time Fury invites a few X-Men to a SHIELD party to ‘improve relations.’ They bring terrible guests with them.” Though Tony is trying to sound annoyed, the relief in his voice is evident. 

Giving into the inevitability of being awake, Clint sighs and opens his eyes. Tony sits next to his bed, munching on Oreos. His eyes droop a bit, with dark shadows underneath them, and there’s a spark in his eyes Clint recognizes from forty-eight hour workshop binges. Manic. His clothes are rumpled - obviously slept in - but he has taken the chance at some point to change into sweats and a tee, rather than the pristine suit Clint last saw him in.

“Really, it’s a good thing you went over the balcony,” Tony continues, “odd as that may seem. It got everyone’s attention, otherwise we may have been caught entirely by surprise - we’ve gotten a bit too used to you being our eyes. I’m thinking if we get you an AI, just to watch your back while you watch all of ours… anyway. They went after you because you’re the sniper.”

“Finally, someone notes my strategic importance,” Clint says, voice scratchy.

Tony leans over to snag a nearby cup with a straw and offer it to him. Clint sighs in relief as the cool water slips down his throat. 

“You keeping watch?” Clint asks.

“And Natasha’s at the door.” Tony beams at him.

“I’m just going to sleep more then. Eat something. Not Oreos. Otherwise your stomach will wake me up. Asshole.”

“Bird-brain,” Tony sniffs.

Natasha swings the door open, a scowl on her face and a box of pizza in her other hand. “Stark, did you seriously order pizza to a top-secret SHIELD base? Do you know how long the delivery guy is going to be in lock-up -”

Clint smiles, and closes his eyes.

“No. No coffee for you. You need to drink water, actual water, so you don’t wilt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments were amazing, thank you so much! Here's the final chapter of this part. Coming up: the Big Reveal. You know the one. :)
> 
> A zillion thanks to Hawkwind1980 for being the most badass beta reader ever! Wish her good wifi on her vacation!
> 
> ~Era Penn

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, many thanks to Hawkwind1980, who is an amazing beta reader!


End file.
